


Not Just Another Contract

by Fen_Assan



Series: Notice Board Stories [3]
Category: The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt - Fandom, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Humour, Mutual Attraction, Notice Boards, Risqué Gifts, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/pseuds/Fen_Assan
Summary: This contract is unusual - from start to finish. But Geralt wouldn't have it any other way.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaywardLass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardLass/gifts).



> I've changed my mind about where this story should go many times - hope you enjoy what it eventually turned into. :)
> 
> Happy New Year - to you, Lass, and to everyone reading this! Hope it will be a great one!
> 
> <3

It was not his intention to linger in one of the Pearls of the North - he was simply passing through. The Witcher had always found that the spirit of this colourful, noisy, and simultaneously very young and very old city somehow suited him - for a short while at least. But this time, as he stepped through the Western Gate and into Oxenfurt, he did not feel enwrapped and carried by its usual jovial atmosphere of the endless pursuit of knowledge and pleasure. It was simply not there. 

A small huddle of young people - clearly identifiable as students even though they were not wearing students’ robes - were hurrying away from the notice board after barely stopping one of them who kept banging on it, hitting a particular parchment with rage. Most of them were clenching their fists, one was crying, and the rest looked visibly wary as they tried to calm down their most agitated comrade, who yelled profanities in at least six different dialects. Geralt did not speak all of them, but certain words and general meaning were unmistakable. He managed to catch the last phrase before the young man’s friends hushed him - _pedicabo te et irrumabo._ Hmm. 

As soon as the Witcher reached the notice board, he discovered the reason for the students’ behaviour was not the exchange of filthy rhymes between the members of the Faculty of Medicine and Philosophy, but rather the announcement from the Chancellor of the Academy. It listed everything that had ceased to exist the moment the Academy had been pronounced closed, its libraries and laboratories collections sold off, and most of its students and staff “invited” to join the war effort.

“Radovid”, Geralt growled the name between his teeth and spat. “Pedicabo te et irrumabo indeed.” He was not supposed to interfere with politics, or even to care about it, and generally he did not. But he found he very much cared for those suffering when a whole bunch of crazy packed into a single person happened to rule a large chunk of land and people in it. _Radovid The Stern should be changed to The Insane_ , he thought. “Or even better, to the Dead,” he muttered under his breath. 

He shook his head at another notice, announcing students’ robes for sale, and nearly stepped away, when one more posting caught his eye. The simple text was written in an elegant hand and on high-quality parchment - he would expect its author to be some professor looking to leave the closed Academy in a safe manner, accompanied by a reliable bodyguard, but it was the signature - or rather the lack of one - that puzzled him and piqued his curiosity.

_A dependable individual of a strong and discreet persuasion is sought to escort a person on a trip. Protection on the road and assistance once the destination is reached are required._

_Interested persons are to enquire at the Rosebud._

_Rosebud_ certainly did not sound like a title of a faculty. Geralt knew the local inns well enough as well to figure out it was not one of them either. Frankly, the name suggested an idea of a bawdy house to him, but he had his doubts. If it had been, Dandelion would have certainly poured tons of information on the establishment into his ears - the bard prided himself on exquisite knowledge of Oxenfurt, and everything and everyone of importance there. Geralt was certain his friend would deem a brothel a place of importance. He pocketed the notice with the intention of asking around, and headed to the nearest inn. 

The place was untypically quiet and half-empty, with only one small group occupying a table in the far corner, and two more men sitting at the opposite ends of the counter. Geralt studied the small blackboard filled with smudged chalk writing, announcing the inn’s menu.

“What’s the soup of the day?” he ventured to ask by means of an ice-breaker, but first only got a grumble from the innkeeper, who kept polishing the same spot with a rag that was dirtier than the surface it was applied to. 

“Whatever ended up in the pot today. Order and find out.” The man did not exactly sound hostile, but he was clearly not trying to be either friendly or welcoming. 

“I’ll have that then. With fresh bread, if you have any.” He placed a coin-filled pouch on the counter and covered it with his hand in an attempt to secure at least a somewhat decent meal by promise of paying for it.

“We have _bread,”_ the Innkeeper said gruffly, and strode away into the kitchens. Geralt looked for understanding of his hardships from a fellow diner sitting at the counter to his left by snickering and shrugging his shoulders at him, but the man only gave him a long look and returned to studiously chewing whatever it was in his plate, without saying a word. The other man sitting to his right never even lifted his head from his bowl. Geralt let out a long sigh of annoyance. 

The soup turned out quite edible, if not fine, and the bread was warm, although not due to its freshness. Geralt puzzled at the inconsistency between the innkeeper’s visibly unfriendly attitude and the effort he had made to up the decency of the food he served him. He decided to try his luck again. 

“Can you tell me where I can find the _Rosebud_?” he asked, having established an unreliable eye contact with the Innkeeper. 

“Never heard of it,” he replied instantly, and then added more loudly, “aren't you a picky one,” and brought him a small bowl of questionable cleanliness filled with salt. “You're attracting the wrong kind of attention”, he whispered as he lowered his head towards the Witcher.

“How?” Geralt wondered in an equally low voice.

“Wrong question,” the Innkeeper cut off, pulling away, looking behind him, towards the corner of the tavern. As it turned out, the men sitting at the counter who had previously ignored Geralt, both possessed highly developed hearing, and a love of grammar. 

“Who from”, said one.

“From whom,” contradicted the other.

“Whose,” stated the Innkeeper, giving a barely discernible nod behind Geralt’s back. _Bloody Oxenfurt,_ the Witcher sighed.

As he turned to check who was the reason for this grammatical conflict, he cursed under his breath. He could not fathom how he had failed to notice upon arrival that the three men dining in the corner were Witch Hunters. Now, they were approaching him at a deliberately slow and lazy pace. Geralt’s first reaction was to ask if the three of them felt safe enough fetching a pint all together or they would rather call for reinforcements, but he stifled that impulse. There was no need to make trouble for the Innkeeper - he had warmed the bread for him after all. 

“And waddaya think ya doin here, mutant?” The man sitting on Geralt’s right cringed - likely due to bad grammar. 

“Eating. The soup’s quite good,” the Witcher lifted the spoon in a cheer and slurped the contents off it. It was still hot enough, and he even caught a small chunk of unidentifiable meat this time. “I do recommend it. The soup of the day,” he pointed to the blackboard, and forced himself to swallow the rest of the sentence - _if any of you were wondering what it said._ The Witch Hunter who had asked the question stood there gaping at him, but his hand moved towards the hilt of his Novigradian steel sword, intentionally slowly and very much for show. 

“Look at ‘im. Fuckin mutant’s got…” As the man hesitated for a moment, looking at his companions, one of them provided the word he was apparently missing in his vocabulary, but had previously heard existed. 

“The gall,” the other Hunter said. Geralt wondered if this one was in fact local.

“Right. ‘ts what I said. Got the balls. To talk to authorities that way.” Geralt took a painfully slow controlled breath. Why was it that the ugliest and stupidest fucks always fancied themselves authority, he wondered. Maybe because sometimes they really were. Not this time though.

“If you would like to engage in a meaningful debate, I suggest stepping outside - no need for making a mess in this pleasant establishment,” he said calmly, continuing to eat his soup unperturbed, pinching off and throwing bits of bread crust in it to fish them out with a spoon later, properly soaked. 

“You’ll get what’s comin to ya, y' fuckin filth!” the Witch Hunter started spitting as he yelled, becoming more enraged the more Geralt sat there, chewing calmly. 

“Stop this cheap show and leave while you can. I can come out with you if you insist, but I do not recommend that,” Geralt spoke through clenched teeth. 

“Oh oh, and why don't ya recommend that?” the attention seemed to make the Hunter quite happy, as he grinned showing off his rotten teeth. 

“Pray tell,” the educated one among them added. 

“Because I haven't finished my soup yet.” They waited for further explanations. “I fight better hungry.” He stood up, squared his shoulders and crossed his arms, the pose made even more intimidating by the hilts of the two swords behind his back, and a scowl on his face. He saw one of the three - the quiet one - reach for his witch hunter sword, and had to act. To minimise the damage to the environment, Geralt quickly arranged his fingers into the Axii Sign in front of the trio, their faces immediately assuming an even dumber expression. 

“Is there an alley through the back door?” he asked the Innkeeper, who nodded sternly, but not at all apprehensively. “I won't do anything to attract attention to your tavern, don't worry.”

“The less of this kind of folk there are, the better,” the man sitting on Geralt’s left suddenly proclaimed. 

“Fewer,” the Innkeeper nodded, meeting the Witcher’s inquisitive gaze. 

When he returned half an hour later, a bowl full of steaming potato-and-onion pierogies appeared in front of him, “on the house”. He also learnt the approximate location of the _Rosebud_ , his earlier suspicions about the nature of the place’s business confirmed. Although he was assured it was in fact something very different. Sophisticated. Geralt hid his smirk. 

***

There was a reason he had only been given the approximate location of the _Rosebud_ : apparently, it was a place most in the city had heard about, but very few had the privilege of visiting. The men in the inn had used precisely that word - privilege. It turned out to be notoriously difficult to discover the place, and supposedly even harder to gain actual entrance. All that sounded weird to Geralt in relation to a brothel - did not all of them want to be known and frequented by as many patrons as possible? He was curious to find out, but right now his patience was starting to run dry. 

He had been combing the web of labyrinthine streets in the area pointed out to him for near an hour, and still was no nearer his goal. None of the buildings looked the part, and there were no men around sporting that unmistakable gait of someone on their way to see a harlot - or returning from one. Geralt cursed, and doubled back. This time, he decided to ask some residents. He agreed it was rude to barge in, so he knocked on one of the three identical doors of what looked like a long terraced house. When no answer came, he pushed the door, and it gave, easily and without a sound. 

“Hello?” he tried before entering, but as the door opened completely, he saw it lead to nothing but an empty corridor, or rather a narrow roofed alley. It looked well-trodden instead of abandoned, so he stepped through. The door on the other side opened into a yard, with no one inside, and only a few other doors in the walls surrounding it. Damn, he was starting to have enough of the riddles. 

“It better be one of these,” he grumbled, and focusing his Witcher senses, attempted to guess the most used door. There were three which carried the most fresh traces of hands on the door knobs and the largest number of footprints in front of them. Luckily, the first one he opened was the one he had been looking for, although he doubted that at first. For there was not a house, but a whole street behind it, not even a too narrow one, with buildings on each side, and people walking along it.

Only one door boasted a guard in front of it, but the building looked unassuming from the outside, and the only person who entered it was a young woman - she looked like a student, and was even carrying a couple of books. She stopped briefly by the guard, whispered something to him, and he opened the door for her. _Hmm, interesting._

“Good day,” he neared the man, who gave him a disinterested but polite look. 

“May I help you?” 

“I hope so. Is this the _Rosebud_?” 

“I’m afraid I’m unable to help the gentleman at this point,” the guard gave a nod clearly meant as a goodbye. So this was the right place at least. 

“I'm looking for the author of this note. I’m a Witcher. Might be interested in this contract.” 

“I’ll ask the gentleman to kindly wait here,” the guard took the parchment but made no movement, apart from a slight push on a brick, the middle section of which shifted inside the wall before returning to its natural position. A few seconds later, another guard wearing the same kind of uniform appeared through the door, nodded politely to Geralt, took the parchment and disappeared again. 

“Nice day, isn't it,” Geralt attempted to amend the awkwardness of the silence between them.

“One could indeed say so, if one's circumstances permit, of course.” Geralt smirked, and prepared to ask more about the circumstances, but was interrupted by the door opening and the other guard sticking his head out anew. 

“Master Witcher is welcome inside.”

Geralt was not given a chance to see much of the house, but he was a Witcher after all, and just a quick look was enough to commit multiple details to his memory. One thing that struck him about the building was that it looked much bigger on the inside - and much more beautiful. He still was not sure if the place was a brothel or not, but if so, it left Passiflora - Novigrad’s fanciest pleasure-seeking spot - looking provincial, only struggling - and mostly failing - to be refined. For _Rosebud_ possessed that something that gripped one immediately: style, and - however nonsensical it sounded about a bawdy house - dignity. The Witcher’s doubts grew with every step. Walking through the halls and corridors lined with heavy, book-filled cases, and paintings which mostly lacked nudity, they passed some doorless rooms dotted with tables: he spotted maps and scrolls on some, an alembic surrounded by multiple vials on another, and, finally, in the room right next to where he was being led, he caught a glimpse of the very same girl who had entered the building earlier. She was pointing at a page in the book on the table, while another girl was rotating the rete of an astrolabe. Hmm. There was no time to ponder these peculiarities as the next moment he was inside a room which, unlike the others, did have a door which promptly closed behind him. He was left alone with a woman. 

As she turned gracefully to face him, wiping a quill and placing it in a tome on the desk, carefully disposing of the inked rag, he noted how elegant she looked, and yet how practical. Her dark-brown hair was coiffed high up, her dress was only seductive in the way that it fitted her figure perfectly but did not show much at all: it was tight around her chest and waist but allowed for unhindered movement. She smiled her welcome, and he felt she was an enigma he was curious to solve. 

“I am Adelina Lovelace, the founder and… supervisor of the _Rosebud_. My friends call me Ada.” Hmm, was she planning on them becoming friendly already?

“I’m Geralt. Which is what everybody calls me,” Geralt spiced up his polite nod with a smirk.

“Oh I’m certain I’ve heard other names you are known by,” her smile was warm and radiant - not something he expected. “But I am happy to finally make your acquaintance. I dared not hope it would be you to stumble upon my notice.” 

It was no longer surprising for Geralt to be recognised, to be known - he guessed he did own part of his fame to Dandelion and his poetic creations. This woman, however, looked as if she knew much more about the Witcher than one could gather from a ballad and a few couplets. He decided he would leave that investigation for later. 

“It was not easy to find you,” he stated as he took the seat offered by the hostess. 

“I certainly am glad to hear that,” she smiled, a twinkle of pride in her dark eyes. “That's just how we want it. A drink?” She gestured at the row of bottles, demijohns and carafes lining the top of a cabinet and he gave it a quick look of appraisal, followed by one of appreciation. 

“Wouldn't say no to some Mahakaman mead. That's a bit unusual for a place like yours - to want it obscure.” He also wanted to know who those “we” who preferred it that way were, but refrained from darting too many questions at … Madame Lovelace? Adelina? Certainly not Ada - not yet anyway. Unexpectedly - but only for the sophisticated and elegant way she looked and bore herself, not so much for her line of work - she poured the mead into two tumblers, and, lifting hers in a cheer, drank her share without flinching. 

“And what kind of place do you think this is, Geralt?” She looked positively amused as she waited for his answer, openly studying him. 

“Some would call it a maison de tolerance, I guess,” he shrugged. 

“That only makes it sound like a pretentious, dirty little bordello, doesn't it?” Adelina laughed sincerely, sending a ripple of crows feet around her eyes - she must have been in her late thirties. “Is that how people speak of it in the streets?” 

“Sort of. No one seems to know for sure, but everyone claims it's something special. Something sophisticated.”

“Ah,” she looked very pleased as she took another sip, “that is not the worst reputation to go by. In truth, Geralt, we do our best to keep this place hidden from general view and inaccessible to most people. Being thought of as a brothel is better than being known for what we really are, in current political climate,” she said the last words staring straight into Geralt’s eyes - hers were intelligent, full of energy and humour. He was inclined to believe he might in fact start calling her Ada sooner than he expected, for her statement could mean nothing else but her lack of love towards Radovid. 

“So what is it that you really do within these walls that His Majesty disapproves of more than whoring? I say…” he paused, downed the rest of the mead, and looked at her with a hint of a smile, “it gotta be teaching.” 

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am you do not disappoint,” she smiled and brought the bottle of mead to stand on the small table between them. She gestured for Geralt to feel at home with it, which he immediately did, refilling both tumblers. “We do many things here. Unofficially, of course. On paper _Rosebud_ is a registered brothel. In reality - it is a… we like to call it a club.”

“Is there a membership then?” he cocked an eyebrow and smirked. 

“Precisely.” Her tone left no mistake - she was not joking. “There are full members - people who, in a way, work here. And partial members - those who, well, use the services, but even they contribute to what goes on here.”

“I'm intrigued.” Geralt sat back and continued utterly enjoying this most unusual lead-in to a contract. 

“Our staff are mostly Academy graduates who had no wish to join the royal army to support the royal madness, who wanted to pursue their academic careers, develop their fields of study, share and spread their knowledge. They were denied that. And most of our “customers” are those even less lucky - they are young people who got cheated out of their education, the company of like-minded individuals, and the freedom to argue their points of view. As well as to express themselves freely - be it a new theory or a scientific method, a new discovery or a new interpretation of an ancient text or artifact, or their preference in art, poetry, or sex. They get that freedom here.”

“So there is sex after all,” Geralt chuckled, leaning his forearm on his leg. 

“There is,” Adelina smiled, unperturbed. “But it is not something sold or bought in this place. All members are free to pursue each other, but nothing ever happens without mutual consent. Everyone can say “no” here.”

“That's an interesting concept.”

“Scholars are not the only ones hunted by Radovid, as you know, but he doesn't stop at non-humans and mages either. He seems to detest anything that is different. Probably because we keep him awake at night with fear,” fury flickered in her eyes as she disclosed her personal inclusion. “Several female students, whose only crime was to seek sexual pleasure with other girls rather than boys, were thrown in prison. What happened to boys who preferred the likes of themselves was in a few cases even worse. My… long-loved partner, Manela and myself started this place as a haven where such people can be free and safe. We both used to work in the Academy, and managed to gradually bring some people to our side. They are those who work here now. We are open to accepting more partial members - although the procedure is harsh and does not allow just anyone to join. We must be absolutely sure the new member is not only like-minded, but can also be trusted.”

“Why then are you telling _me_ all this?” 

“I know you to be trustworthy from multiple sources,” she smiled charmingly. “Dandelion and Shani to name but a few.”

“So Dandelion _is _a member here? I can't believe he managed to never tell me about this place. And he usually can't shut up about… well, everything.”__

__“I'm happy to know he conforms to our rules. Otherwise Manela might be disinclined to go through his rhymes with him again,” she laughed, and it was simultaneously a warm and a mischievous thing. Geralt shook his head: this was quite a story - shame he would likely be disallowed to tell it to anyone. Still, he could always tell Yen._ _

__“That's… I did not expect that,” Geralt chuckled. “So… what kind of help do you need from a Witcher?”_ _

__“Oh, I didn't think it would be a Witcher to answer my call, was just hoping for someone decent and capable. Which, in truth, is a near description of a certain Witcher.” Geralt was certain she did not wink, but it felt like she did._ _

__“So you’d need me to escort you where and to do what?”_ _

__“Ensure my safety on the road, assist me in the village of Brunwich - I’ll be making a business arrangement which will likely last for a week or two - and help me with the cargo I shall hopefully be bringing back.”_ _

__“Cargo?”_ _

__“Nothing dangerous, I assure you.” Geralt poured himself another shot of mead, unfazed by Adelina refusing to partake anymore, downed it in two gulps and stood up, extending his hand._ _

__“It's a deal.”_ _

__She answered with a firm handshake and a lovely smile._ _

__“You didn't ask how much I was offering.”_ _

__“I’ll take the contract anyway,” he shrugged._ _

__***_ _

__Although being an escort and a bodyguard was not the most witcherly kind of work he had ever done, Geralt considered this contract quite a success - it was rare that he in fact enjoyed every aspect of the job. Adelina turned out to be extremely pleasant company indeed. While they rode on horseback through the fields and villages of Redanian countryside, he learnt that she was a curious combination of an alchemist and a mathematician; she argued there was nothing strange there - both sciences required precision and abstract thinking. The explanation sounded confusing to Geralt as he viewed those two as quite opposite. But besides intelligent, Adelina was also irreparably enthusiastic and energetic, always ready to share her knowledge - and her wit. Besides, she was a killer at Gwent. The fact that she was also a beautiful woman did not play a major role, Geralt thought, although he would not deny it made the pleasure of sharing her company even greater. Her preference for women and his own loyalty to Yennefer meant the chances of something happening that would rise the tension between them were slim. Despite all that, her presence was exciting for him in more ways than one._ _

__Their first day of travel was uneventful - if Geralt did not count him losing a rare Gwent card to Adelina and scaring a couple of bandits off - and he did not count that. On the second day, however, a need for his Witcher skills arose together with the graveirs - too many bodies of the hanged people were left on trees instead of being properly buried or burnt. He made quick work of them, and was pleased Adelina did not faint or get under his feet during the fight. In fact, she managed to place a few bolts into the monsters from an unusually small crossbow she carried. The amazing piece of engineering was a gift from a close friend, she explained._ _

__She was fascinated by his fighting style and his abilities - and kept asking him about his mutations and his Witcher elixirs, and making complicated calculations of his attacks she called “critical hits” - she claimed those were much more likely to kill his opponents. Geralt knew what she was talking about mostly instinctively, and it was interesting to get a deeper evaluation and a scientific perspective on his work._ _

__That evening they stayed in an unusually large inn, and were explained that the place owed its size to the fact that it was the only inn in four nearby villages. Adelina always paid for two rooms for them, and Geralt appreciated the comfort - he had spent too much time of his life sleeping outside._ _

__Adelina could very well hold a drink, Geralt discovered that night, as they moved through one bottle to the next without even noticing, so engrossed were they in conversation._ _

__“I’m telling you. I could make it last twice as long.”_ _

__“With twice the toxicity?”_ _

__“Geralt, please,” she scoffed, as if he was supposed to know her enough already to realise she never bothered to do anything subpar._ _

__“Alright,” he held his palms up. “I’ll give you the recipe to play with.”_ _

__“In Brunwich?” she seemed excited beyond belief._ _

__“Won't you lack the equipment there? And also be busy with your…” he swirled his index finger in the air, “business?”_ _

__“Huh! Most of the job will be done in my head and on parchment in the first place. Besides, as soon as I convince them to take the order, I’ll have little to do but wait for them to finish it.” It occurred to Geralt he had never asked what sort of business Ada was planning to conduct there, so he did now. Instead of answering, she opened her pack and handed him a neatly folded parchment._ _

__“Brothers Gomes carpentry services?” the Witcher read aloud, and she nodded. Why the hell would she… he kept reading, “... canopy beds, alcove accessories… hmm… I see. I guess. But why order all the way there?”_ _

__“You see, our order is quite… peculiar, not everyone is capable of producing what we need, neither everyone is willing. And we require the carpenters to be discreet and provide the highest quality craftsmanship. These brothers Gomes are supposed to be just what we’re looking for.”_ _

__“So you haven't worked with them before?” She shook her head. “And you might need my assistance in persuading them to cooperate?” She nodded._ _

__“But only peacefully. I do hope they will find my arguments convincing.”_ _

__“If your arguments jingle when put in a purse, I bet they will,” Geralt smirked._ _

__“That will not be a problem,” she flashed him a smile, and as if to prove that, ordered another bottle of whatever they were drinking, and some more food._ _

__They ended up staying downstairs later than most patrons, and finally realising the emptiness around them, went up to their adjacent rooms._ _

__“Good night, Ada,” Geralt said by his own door, wondering why his gaze kept circling between her beautiful dark eyes and curved lips, her round hips and narrow waist showed off perfectly in her riding trousers. He shook his head - must be the drink talking._ _

__“Good night, Geralt,” she smiled. He could tell she noticed him looking, but did not seem to mind. She closed the door behind her and Geralt was left with nothing else to do but follow her example. He crashed on the bed, rubbing his face in irritation. Ada was fascinating. And he had not seen Yen for too long. Both facts seemed to equally frustrate him. He would meditate. Drink some water from that jar, and meditate, and maybe even sleep, and he would be back to normal, would regain his focus. He gave a sidelong look to the door he only just noticed which connected his room to Ada’s. He growled, sat up on the bed and threw his boots off one by one angrily. A loud crash from the room nextdoor made him jolt to his bare feet and have that door shoved open with his shoulder in an instant._ _

__“Ada? You alright?”_ _

__A low groan came in response. He found her sitting on the floor, her back leaning against the bed, one hand on her temple, the other clutching some parchment. There were a few spots of blood on her cheek._ _

__“Are you hurt? What happened?”_ _

__“I’m fine, only adding insult to injury, it seems” she laughed, failing to stand as her foot slipped on the parchment, and finally accepting his help to sit up on the bed. “I got started on some calculations for enhancing your potion,” she pointed to the parchment already filled with a web of alchemical formulas, question marks, and all sorts of notes, “and didn't notice this cabinet here was so close until I hit it with my head.” Geralt moved her bloodied fingers away from her temple to inspect the injury._ _

__“It's not too bad, a shallow cut, but the hit will likely leave you with a bruise and a headache tomorrow. Let me clean it up.” She did not protest as he brought the pitcher, cleaning cloth, and his own pouch of herbs, crushed some dried plants into the water, and started dabbing her temple with the wet cloth._ _

__“Celandine?” she wondered, closing her eyes to better distinguish the smell._ _

__“Mhm. You a herbalist too?” he smirked._ _

__“Thank you,” she gave a little laugh, her warm breath hitting the skin of his bare arms. “It is a good and fortunate thing I have you escorting me.” She sounded casual, but he sensed her heartbeat. It was too fast, even for someone drunk, even for someone who had just hit their head. He swallowed._ _

__“My pleasure.”_ _

__“Is it?” she looked up at him suddenly, her eyes - and her lips - too close. It would be so easy to find them, meet them in a kiss - he did not think she would mind._ _

__“Ada,” he said, his fingers lingering on her cheek, brushing her hair away from the cut on her temple. But he did not know what to say next. Or what to do. Then her hand was suddenly on his chest, and he found that he covered it with his - to hold it there or to push away he was uncertain. “Ada,” he repeated, “you are an incredible woman.”_ _

__“But there is another incredible woman in your life,” she smiled, her eyes half closed. “As well as in mine. I guess I am just… curious. So curious about you. So fascinated. And aroused.” Each word she said sent a jolt of desire through his body, but the more he wanted her, the more certain he became he was not going to act on that desire. “But you are right,” she added, speaking the words right onto his skin, even tickling the stubble on his cheek, “we should not squander our relationships just to satisfy our curiosity.”_ _

__“Yeah,” he croaked, breathing heavily, “we shouldn't.” Her forehead was pressed to his for a few moments, and they both just sat there, eyes closed, motionless. Then, as she nuzzled at his temple while slowly moving away, Geralt felt a hot drop of blood from her cut land on his neck, right where his own blood was pumping his pulse into a frenzy._ _

__“Unless,” she said, now sitting close but not touching him, “it could be just a kiss.”_ _

__“I won't be able to stop after just a kiss,” he grumbled, furious at himself both for the truth of that statement and for the frustration it brought._ _

__“You're right, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, biting her lip, stood and picked up her parchments off the floor, then sat next to him again. He was still on her bed, willing his arousal to subside not to be revealed when he got up. He was losing that battle. “Think of it this way: if we don't do anything we would regret later, we can become truly good friends. That's worth it, isn't it?”_ _

__“Mhm. Although right now I don't see why I couldn't fuck you and still be friends with you,” he groaned, rubbing his face, and heard her take in air with a hiss._ _

__“Because you don't love me. And you wouldn't be able to look the one you do love in the eyes if you fucked me.” She was so right. Damn her. “Besides,” her tone changed into a mocking one, “I might be disappointed in the act, after all I do prefer women - it's just that you’re so fascinating from a scientific poi…”_ _

__He interrupted her with a kiss. A hard one, demanding, taking, proving a point. He was not afraid he would lose control any longer. He was only proving a point. As his tongue slid into her readily open mouth, he swirled it around hers, and pressed his lips onto her soft ones, and drank of her, and left her breathless. Then stepped away._ _

__“This was so you know you wouldn't be disappointed,” he said, panting. A few breaths later, he smirked. “Now we can be friends.”_ _

__Having closed the door from his side, he knew what he had just said was true. But that did not prevent him from taking himself in hand between the sheets. When his hot seed spilt between his fingers, and he pushed his face into the thin pillow to muffle his groan, he was thinking of Yen._ _

__***_ _

__“Slept well?” Geralt greeted Ada with a smirk when she appeared in the common room for breakfast - her cut half covered by her hair but looking like it was healing well._ _

__“Yes, thank you,” she grinned at him, “had to… help myself first though. Good thing I had a sample for the carpenters’ order with me,” she looked at him daringly as she nodded to the innkeeper to bring her the same thing Geralt was having. The Witcher stopped chewing his food for a moment._ _

__“You're not saying…”_ _

__“Yeah. That's the order. Well, a batch of those, and a few very special chairs.” He swallowed, his imagination running wild. The best thing of it all - which he could scarcely believe himself - was that he felt absolutely no discomfort, or awkwardness between them. He made a serious face._ _

__“I don't know how you're expecting me to convince the carpenters to make the wooden likeness of a male member for you, Ada.”_ _

__“Don't worry,” she whispered quickly, to be done before the innkeeper reached their table, “you won't need to provide the model for them. Although if you like…” she laughed._ _

__“I’ll think about it,” he laughed with her._ _

__Luckily, brothers Gomes did not need too much convincing - or a model. They were quite shocked at the request at first, but the money, and the extra weight of the argument that they would be helping many a maiden - well, girl, and woman, by making them quite happy - played their role._ _

__Geralt did have a part in the arrangement as well - there was unexpected Witcher work in it for him. So while Ada worked on making his potions more efficient, he rid the Fox Hollow of the pack of rabid wolves, allowing the carpenters to gather the proper wood in the forest. They could not use just any materials for this order after all - the look, the feel, the smoothness of the wood were all to be taken into account._ _

__The craftsmen were done after eight days. The days Geralt and Ada spent in walks and conversations and drinking and work. They talked about themselves, and about Manela and Yennefer. And on their way back to Oxenfurt they stayed in the same inn - and only shared a knowing smile. She did not hit her head on the cabinet again._ _

__Back in the _Rosebud _, Ada took him to a little inner courtyard hidden between other buildings - for his reward, she had said. When she handed him a fat pouch, he wanted to protest that it was too much, and that he in fact did not charge his friends for services - usually. But she would have none of that.___ _

____“You earned it. And I’m sure I’ll ask you for enough free services yet for you to start loathing me,” she smiled smugly._ _ _ _

____“Never,” he smirked back._ _ _ _

____“But that's not all,” she said mischievously, and led him into a shed - he noticed the cargo they had brought from Brunwich._ _ _ _

____“No way. Don't even think about it. I do _not_ need a wooden cock, Ada.”_ _ _ _

____“Ha-ha-ha. It's not a cock. And it's not for you actually. Well, not only for you.” She threw the cover off the cart and pointed at an elaborately and weirdly shaped chair. “I think Yennefer will appreciate it,” she winked, “I’d love to meet her one day.”_ _ _ _

____“Mmh. I’m sure you’d get on splendidly. Is there a thick manuscript full of instructions on the use of this… beast?”_ _ _ _

____“I assure you, she’ll know what to do with a love seat. Or rather, what you’ll need to do. You’ll figure it out,” she patted his arm with a self-satisfied smile while he observed the strange chair in bafflement._ _ _ _

____Finding himself unsuccessfully trying to tie the chair to Roach’s saddle, Geralt cursed. But then, having turned the piece of furniture at an odd angle, it suddenly struck him how exactly it was meant to be used._ _ _ _

____“Damn,” he muttered, impressed. “It’s got to be better than a stuffed unicorn.”_ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll be happy to know what you think if you decide to leave me a comment. :) 
> 
> * "pedicabo te et irrumabo" features in the mentioned notice in-game, and is actually Latin for... look for yourselves [here](http://timesonline.typepad.com/dons_life/2009/11/pedicabo-ego-vos-et-irrumabo-what-was-catullus-on-about.html)
> 
> * I shamelessly based many features of Adelia's character on a real-life 19th century mathematician Ada Lovelace, who was a fascinating woman and a passionate scientist, often thought of a the first computer programmer way before computers, who also happened to be Lord Byron's daughter. If you don't know about her, I heartily recommend [this biography](http://findingada.com/shop/a-passion-for-science-stories-of-discovery-and-invention/ada-lovelace-victorian-computing-visionary/)


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